Face From the Past
by ADE-1977
Summary: George Forwell has been tormented since the age of ten by visions of a past he can't quite remember. Now, approaching his fiftieth birthday, he once again comes face to face with the man from his dreams. My first ever fan-fic so please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

Face From the Past

Prologue

As the years passed by, the memories slipped from Georges mind. He hadn't forgotten as such, how could he, rather he had convinced himself that the truth could never be as strange as he remembered it. The images his mind recalled, full of strange creatures and of worlds he knew could not exist, flashed in front of his eyes as he slept. He convinced himself that they were no more than childish fantasies, mere dreams created by an overactive child's mind. Except no, not dreams as such, no dream could seem so strange, yet so believable that whenever he awoke from one he could still see that face, the face that all the other images roiled around in a tempestuous sea of colours and sounds, so clear in his mind that he often awoke dazed and unsure of the difference between memory, dream and reality. He could see the face whenever he shut his eyes and concentrated on the memory, for, out of the jumble of images, that was the one that he knew for certain was real.

It was the face of a man, middle aged, but with a flicker of youthful exuberance about it. Like a child trapped behind the eyes of an older man. Framed by a shock of curly hair it was a face full of expression and knowing. Even in dream and memory the eyes pierced his soul, looking deep inside him, almost appraising him, assessing his worth for some unknown task. He knew that once, almost forty years ago, he had actually met this man, face to face.

George was roused from his memories by a knock at the door, rising, he stretched out the knotted muscles in his back and crossed the room. Reaching out, his hand closed on the door handle and turned……

A young man stood at the door; to George he looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He wore a pin striped suit and glasses. A tall man, some six foot, he had a real presence about him. In fact, George realised, he seemed familiar, strange because he was certain he had never met the man before. As he looked into the strangers face he realised why the man seemed familiar; it was the look in his eyes. Somehow this youthful stranger put him in mind of the face from his dreams. What was even stranger however was that while the man in his head looked out at him with eyes imbued with a youth belying his years, this man had eyes that seemed old, old way beyond his years. This man had the look of someone who had seen it all. Yet, in spite of the incongruities between the two, something in his gaze was identical to that of the memory from forty years earlier; it was the same look of appraisal, of weighing George up….


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

"Excuse me," the man at the door pushed past George into the small end-terrace maisonette.

"Er, do you mind", George stuttered, thrown off balance by the abrupt manner of the arrival of the man.

"No, of course I don't, George," the man replied with a flippancy George had rarely encountered. "Are you going to shut the door then, I mean, its cold out there; and besides you never know what strangers might be hanging around". With that he turned his back on George and proceeded into the living room. Following him into the room George found the stranger already sat on the old leather sofa he had inherited when his step-mother had passed away. The man seemed totally at ease, indeed he had his feet up on the coffee table, his old plimsolls slightly out of place against the pin stripe suit he wore. "Erm, do you mind", George repeated, thoroughly off balance by the strangers' apparent ease in his home.

"Now, I've already answered that one, I think. But if it needs clearing up then let me say categorically that no, I certainly don't mind, why would I? It's your house after all. Me, I'm just a guest, although I must say that your talents as a host are sorely lacking. You haven't even offered me a drink yet, and this old sofa used to be a lot more comfortable as I remember". George, his head now spinning, was more than a little confused. He knew he'd never seen this man before, and yet on the other hand he did seem somehow familiar, added to which he certainly seemed to know George. He had called him by name and, even more surprisingly, the man apparently was not only familiar with George, but with his sofa too. Snapping out of the confusion, George gathered his thoughts. Turning to the man he addressed him in his most formal tone. "I'm afraid we have never met, Mr….?" He trailed off expecting the man to supply him with his name and maybe to throw some light as to why he was here. Answered only with silence, George continued. "You seem to know me, sir, and in that you have me at a disadvantage." The man turned to George and smiled.

"So you don't remember then. I wondered if, after so much time, the memories may be returning, but obviously not. Let me clear things up for you. I'm not a Mister as you addressed me, neither am I a Sir as you next thought. I, George, am the Doctor, and you? Well, besides me, you're the most important man in the universe."


End file.
